It Was An Accident, Really It Was!
by MegGiry
Summary: Erik didn't mean it. He didn't mean any of it! From the poster falling on Carlotta's head to the hanging Buquet, there is an explanation behind all of it...R&R please!
1. In Which I Lose My Grip on the Rope

It Was An Accident, Really It Was!

A/N: Bored, hyper and sugar high! YAY! And seeing as I'm such a klutz, I felt that I needed a klutzy companion! Voila, this fic! Based on the 2004 movie. Be warned: Erik is not how you remember him. At all…

It was an accident, I swear. All of it was.

It all began the day when the new managers of the Opera Populaire came calling at the door of, well, their Opera house. They brought along a charming, gallant and good-looking patron that made me sick to my stomach. Raoul, his name was. But that's not what I heard.

I've been half deaf since my good aunty Caroline threw a brick at my head after I sat on her crystal vase at age four (long story). When the new managers were introducing the patron, they said his name to the waiting crowd, as one normally does when introducing someone. "This is our patron, Raoul le Vicomte de Chagny."

But my half deaf ears heard, "This is our patron, Rolly the Hiccup de Champy."

Naturally, this did not make much sense to me.

"Rolly?" I asked aloud, forgetting that I was up in the rafters of the Opera House. You see, I had gone up about two hours earlier, on a mission I'd been planning for weeks. I had made up a beautiful banner thanking the retiring manager, M. Lefervre, for all of his great work at the Opera Populaire, and wishing him a good retirement. I was thinking that if I was quick and crafty enough, I could string it on to one of the ropes that held the props, and I could bribe Joseph Buquet to release it during the gala that night. But then I heard about Mr. Rolly the Hiccup, and dropped the rope in my hand to listen to the conversation below me.

Anyway, back to the present.

"Rolly?" I asked aloud to no one in particular. I said it quietly, or at least I thought I did, but that ridiculous Giry girl heard me and started up some squawk or other about this Phantom she'd made up in her sad little mind. The girl next to her, by the name of Chrissy Day or something, listened intently until Mr. Hiccup happened to glance her way. Then she proceeded to go on and on about him to the point of swooning.

So I was standing in the dusty old rafters, watching the Opera go about its rehearsals for Hannibal, when that peacock of a woman Carlotta started rampaging again. Her accent makes her words extremely difficult to decipher, especially to a person of my hearing capability.

She was talking so fast I couldn't catch even a word of what she was saying, and before I knew it she was singing. My goodness that woman can blow. I was holding the rope, determined to get back to business, when I heard her hit an extremely bad note. I winced, and through my slick black gloves the rope began to slide. I tried to catch it, really! But it just kept sliding and before I knew it, down came the poster, right onto that unfortunate Carlotta's head.

Damn.

With a guilty look on my face, I swirled my cape and turned to go. As I was running back to my lair, cursing my clumsiness, I heard that Giry child starting up on that Phantom business again.

Young people these days. What on earth goes through their heads?

So then there was that gala. I had primped my wig and shined my shoes, all ready to go, when I surfaced to the performance hall and realized that there were no empty seats. I didn't want to be rude and ask someone to leave, of course, so I decided to go back down to my lair, make up some nice tea, and just listen to the gala above me. I hadn't been able to string up my banner after the whole falling poster incident, so I just made M. Lefervre a nice card and some homemade truffles which, if I do say so myself, were quite delicious.

I sat on my little swan bed and listened to the gala, remarking to myself about how good that little Chrissy girl was. When it was over, I decided that since I was quite lonely and had some extra truffles left over, I would pay Miss Day a visit and congratulate her on her extraordinary achievement. I gathered the truffles and I even found a pretty red rose to give her, although one of the little thorns caught onto my cape and tore off a long strip of shiny black fabric. I tried to remove the fabric, but the thorns hurt even through my gloves, so I just tied it in a bow and hoped that Miss Day would think I put it there purposely. I wonder even today if that part of my plan worked.

So I started up the stairs to make my way to Miss Day's dressing room when I encountered that horrid Mag (is it Mag? Perhaps they call her Maggie. I myself would much prefer Maggie to Mag, but who am I to comment, for my name is Erik and not Mag or Maggie. I confuse myself) Giry near the top of the fourth flight. She pointed and screamed and made a great deal of fuss, even though I greeted her quite politely and asked how her evening was. She shrieked on and on about encountering this Phantom person whom she was quite obsessed with, and soon I heard the footsteps clattering down the steps to see what the matter was. I figured that with all of the people making their way down the steps, the traffic would be very tight, so I just stuffed a truffle in Maggie's mouth and hurried back to my lair to find another way to Miss Day's dressing room.


	2. In Which I Unknowingly Am the Angel of M...

**A/N**: Christine makes a bigger appearance in this chapter. Also Erik learns that he's gotten several names wrong. Forgive me for making Christine so air-headed. But really she must have been, for after all, who would pick our friend the fop over Erik?

I still heard the shrill shriek of Maggie on my way through my lair. I'd decided to use my mirror passageway, my own substitute for a fire escape. Hey, every level of a multistory building has to have a fire escape, right? I turned to the mirror, made sure I looked okay (Miss Day was very pretty, and I was considering inviting her back down to the lair for tea, or maybe dinner, or maybe the rest of her life), and opened up the passage by the convenient lever right next to it. I climbed up the stairway, stumbled through a dark tunnel, rode a horse across sweltering plains, swam through several oceans, hopped over the moon and _finally_ I was in Miss Day's dressing room.

Alas, there was no one there.

"Chrissy?" I called, thinking that perhaps a year or two had passed while I was traveling through the passage. Maybe she'd already moved out.

I heard a response, but it was only faint. I pressed my ear against the stone wall of her dressing room. It took me a while, but finally I understood.

Chrissy had said, "Meg, did you just call me Chrissy?"

Meg! _That_ was her name. Silly me. That's two names I've mistaken that day! Rolly and Mag. What was I thinking?

"Of course not! I said, 'Christine, Christine' and I was about to launch into song about where you'd been hiding. Why would I call you Chrissy? Really, Christine, that's such a childish nickname."

Oops. That's three names I've messed up.

"Oh, well then," replied Christine, "continue."

And little Meg did. They proceeded to sing a nice little song together about a person named Angel of Music, whom Meg did not believe in, and by the end of the tune they had me tapping my foot and humming it under my breath. I had that song stuck in my head for weeks, which is actually a good thing, because it replaced the other song I'd been singing for a while—"Let's Get It Started" by the Black Eyed Peas. One of the stagehands had been playing it on his portable radio, and I was having an infinite amount of trouble wondering why the song said, "Let's get it started in _ha_" instead of the more understandable word "here." Finally I had decided it was some type of primitive slang.

The girls finished their song, and I heard their footsteps outside as Meg walked her friend back to her dressing room. I grimaced, knowing that if I was spotted by little Meg, there would be another half hour of screaming and pointing, and I'd probably have to give her another truffle as a bribe for shutting up, and I didn't want that for I was running low on truffles already. I slipped quietly back through the mirror passage, closed the door, and waited on the other side for Meg to make her exit. Soon, I heard Christine bid her goodbye, and heard her little ballerina footsteps disappear down the passage.

As soon as Meg left, more footsteps could be heard in the passage. The door opened, and Mr. Hiccup entered the room. I knew that wasn't his name, but I didn't know what his real name was. I went over possible nicknames in my head: Rolly, Mr. Hiccup, Fop—I wasn't sure where that one came from. I just looked at him and my mind said, quite simply, 'Fop.'

I decided I liked Fop best.

So Mr. Fop entered the room, and strutted around talking to Miss Day, calling her by the name of Latte, or Lotte or something. She seemed quite enamored with the Fop, and when he invited her to dinner I was sure I'd missed my chance. But then she started up her spiel about this Angel fellow again, talking about how strict he was and how he visited her at night in her bed and sang songs to her (at this point I decided that the Angel was some perverted teacher of hers). The fop just laughed and told her to get ready for dinner. Then he left.

I was just about ready to open the mirror again when I saw Miss Day, who I shall begin to call Christine, reach to the back of her dress. At first I thought she was just pulling it up a bit, as it had begun to slip down, but then I realized she was doing exactly the opposite. As she started to slide it off and reach for her dressing gown, I whirled around and looked embarrassedly down at the ground.

Vaguely I wondered how I was seeing all of this through a mirror. Looking more closely at the back of the door-mirror-thing, I realized that I'd bought the wrong type of glass for my passageway door. I thought two-way mirror glass meant that there was a mirror on each side, which would have been very useful, as sometimes I forget crucial items to my appearance (i.e. shoes, pants, mask), and it would have been good to check before I emerged into the outside world. But apparently, two-way mirror glass meant that you could see through one side. Into a young girl's changing room. Where she would, invariably, change clothes.

Oops.

I waited a bit, and then turned around, hoping that she'd finished. Luckily she was done dressing, and tying the little rope of the dressing gown around her slim, slender waist, and running one hand through her wavy, glossy locks—

_Excuse me._ I'll continue with the story now.

I stepped up to the mirror, truffles and rose in hand, and then realized I had no idea how to begin. I've always been a little awkward around girls that I find particularly lovely, so I decided to start out with a question. Taking a deep breath, I opened the mirror. She didn't seem to notice.

"So, erm…what's the name of your little suitor?" I asked uncomfortably.

Apparently, Christine hadn't realized I was there. She jumped at the sound of my voice, then raised her honey brown eyes to the sky, clasped her hands together in pleading, opened her mouth wide and started to sing very loudly (although beautifully! Let the record show that she did sing beautifully!) about something I didn't quite understand.

Finally I realized that she was pleading the Angel of Music for forgiveness. I shrugged and decided to let her finish before pressing my question again.

She did finish. Then there was silence. She stood staring at the ceiling, and when it didn't reply, she blinked at it in shock. The ceiling just sat there, up on top of the wall, saying nothing. This continued for a while. Blink, blink—nothing. Blink, blink—nothing. My brain started working while she sat there blinking, and I started to think that maybe the child was a bit disturbed, and perhaps I should return at a later date, when she dropped her arms and looked around the room, just happening to glance at the mirror.

Apparently, she thought I was hiding in the ceiling (which I must figure out how to do someday). When she saw me, she jumped (again), clasped her hands together in pleading (again), opened her mouth very wide (again), and started to sing loudly the same verses once more, only to me this time. And after she finished, she blinked at me instead of the ceiling.

"Me?" I asked at last. "Wait, I'm the Angel of Music?"

She nodded ecstatically.

"Oh, no, you must be mistaken," I said nervously, shifting from foot to foot. "I'm not—I never—"

"Angel of Music! Guide and guardian!" she protested. "Grant me to your glory!"

"Glory? Honey, I don't—I'm not sure what you're talking abou—"

"_GRANT ME TO YOUR GLORY!_" she demanded, stomping her foot. "_COME TO ME, STRANGE ANGEL!_"

"Um…I'm your Angel of Music?" I asked, confused again."Then, that means I--I never sang songs--maybe I should leave...here, why don't you come to me instead?" It was only after I said it that I realized what my request must sound like. "No, wait, I didn't mean it like that! I only wanted—we could have tea—"

But Christine didn't hear me, or at least she made no visible reference that she had understood my words. She was walking toward me, misty-eyed, singing at the top of her lungs about the Angel of Music.

"Er, truffle?" Ioffered weakly, extending the hand that held one.

She reached out, and I thought she was going to take the truffle. But she took my hand instead. Not that I minded, of course.

_Thank you to… _

**Blueberrymarker: **Thanks a lot! grins I love making people laugh! Like this one time I made my friend Sydney squirt orange juice through her nose…but that's a different story. :)

**Nota Lone: **I like making up excuses…unfortunately none of my teachers ever believe that the rampaging chimp stole my essay while I was walking to school!

**Vampire Kid Kara: **feels smart Thanks a lot! The Rolly the Hiccup part actually came from my little cousin, when I was trying to tell him the story and I said 'Raoul le Vicomte de Chagny' with a French accent how it's supposed to be said, and he says, "Why would anyone name a kid that? Hiccup?" Then I asked him what he thought I'd said…and he heard what Erik heard.

**Son Ange**: Yes, this side of Erik is rarely seen…only in fictionalized Eriks does it ever show its face! And I'm sure he'd appreciate that cute comment. ;-)

**Clintongroth**: Don't get me wrong, I love the movie, it was my first experience to Phantom…but it's just so fun to mess with! The characters are in for 'quite a spin', as you put it!

**Angel-of-Music1331**: Hee, I'm actually not one to go for out-of-character Eriks myself. But I just thought, you know, what if it all WAS an accident?

**Nisiyouri**: Aw, I feel loved! Thank you!

…_for being really sweet! You all deserve some of Erik's delightful truffles!_


	3. In Which I Learn How To Salsa Dance

I turned back to the mirror, Christine's hand still firmly clasping mine. As I started to walk down the hall she followed me, not even asking where we were going. I decided then and there that I definitely liked this girl.

I had the eeriest feeling I was being watched. Uncomfortably I glanced behind me at Christine. She looked as if she were about to sing something, eyes wide, mouth open. Gaping at me.

"Erm, yes?" I asked, hoping she'd either talk or shut her gaping hole of a mouth.

She was silent.

I shrugged and faced forward, waving the lit torch in front of me to light our way. The feeling didn't go away, though, and every so often I looked behind me and Christine was _still _looking at me with that same blank, idiotic expression.

I was surprised when she sang the first syllable. Then I was relieved. At last she was putting that expression to good use.

"In sleep he sang to me," she sang.

"Actually, I did nothing of the sort, you must—"

But she continued. "In dreams, he came. That voice which calls to me, and speaks my name."

"But, I didn't even know your real name—I thought it was Chrissy until about an hour ago."

She wasn't listening. "And do I dream again, for now I find…the Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind."

"See now, I'm the Phantom, not any angel, and plus my name is Erik."

"Erik is less dramatic than the Phantom of the Opera."

I jumped. I hadn't even realized I'd been talking to something that would, you know, respond.

"Oh, ok, well, whatever you want. Continue please."

"But it's your turn to sing."

"Why don't you sing once again?"

Her expression turned sour. "It's your turn!"

"I've got an idea," I said, feeling a little pressured. I don't like to sing in front of people. "How about you sing with me? We'll have a, erm, strange duet."

"I suppose, Angel, I am at your mercy. Your power over me grows stronger yet." She looked at me as if she had just encountered a god, or a heavenly being, or Tom Cruise or something.

"Power? Wait, I have power over you? What the heck are you talking about?"

But she ignored me, again. She just started singing on some random topic. "Those who have seen your face draw back in fear."

"That wasn't nice," I said, a little hurt.

"I am the mask you wear."

I touched my mask, a little bewildered. I decided to turn it into a very awkward joke. "Well, if you're my mask, then I'm your voice."

I think she took it seriously, because next she belted: "Your spirit and my voice, in one, combined…the Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind."

I shrugged and set the torch into a well-placed holder by the edge of the lake. I helped her as she daintily hopped into my gondola.

"_Nice_."

"Beg pardon?"

"Nice," she repeated. "Your gondola. Is this the MotorMessieur 380X model? With the velvet cushioning and black polish finish and in-flight movies?"

"Why, yes it is," I replied, proud. "And with the extra traction pole."

"You know," she said, looking up at me through slightly lowered lids, "I've always loved a man with a nice gondola."

"Erm, well," I said, shifting uncomfortably, "you really can't judge a man by his gondola. There's more than just spiffy black polish and in-flight movies."

"Yes, well, anyways. I wasn't finished with my song." She closed her eyes and mouthed the words she'd already sang, trying to find her place. "Oh yes." She cleared her throat, opened wide, and half-sung, "Beware, the Phantom of the Opera."

I had kind of zoned out while she was finding her place, and at the mention of my name I snapped to attention. "What? Yes? Did you call me? I'm right over here. Like, two feet from you."

"He's there, the Phantom of the Opera."

"Didn't we, um, just go over this?"

She started vocalizing, scales I think they were, at such purely inhuman notes I couldn't help but stop poling the gondola and just stare at her. She went higher and higher, and finally seemed like she had reached her breaking point.

I couldn't help it. Her voice was so beautiful. "Sing for me!" I cried.

She screamed.

"That works too," I shrugged, handing her out of the gondola.

"We didn't even have time for an in-flight movie."

"Well, I've got some videos, and we can watch some after our tea," I replied, running off to boil some water. She carefully inspected my lair.

"This sucks. Don't you have a Walkman or a boom box or anything?"

"A what or a what?"

"Do you have any mechanical objects with which to play music?"

"Oh, uh, no."

"Why not?"

"Well, I play my organ." I gestured to the organ with my head as I tried to light my gas stove.

"So you don't have any CDs? You've never heard of, say, Shakira or Nelly or Alicia Keys?"

"Um, I've heard some stuff by the Black Eyed Peas," I offered weakly.

She said nothing, but I could hear a faint musical murmur of, "Let's get it started in _ha_."

Back to the age-old ha-here question. Why? WHY?

Anyway.

Back to the story.

Where was I?

What was I doing?

Oh yes.

Christine spoke next.

Again.

"So the one reason why you don't have a boom box is because the only music you listen to is organ music?"

"Er, uhm, uh…" I didn't realize how cheesy it would sound till I said it. "I like to listen to the music of the night. All around me, you know?"

She gave a little not-so-dainty snort of laughter. "Oh, alright then. Well…" She sauntered over to me, flipping her hair to one side and gazing at me intently as she placed her hands on my shoulders, "as the water is boiling, would you like to dance to the music of the night?"

"I'm…I'm not very good," I admitted as she led me away from the stove. "I know the robot, and the Time Warp…"

"I'll teach you a new kind that I picked up from Meg," Christine laughed, grabbing my hands. "It's called salsa. Or dirty dancing." She turned to look me straight in the eye. "Whichever you prefer."

"Salsa it is then," I gulped.

"Alright. To start, you do…this." She turned around and took both my hands, circling them around her waist. "And then you do…this…" She slid my arms up and down and all around, then closed her eyes and sighed. "Sing, would you? It ruins the moment without music."

I groaned, but piously began to sing. "Let's get it started—"

"Not _that_!" she spat. "Something romantic and yet strangely enigmatic…what about…something about this music of the night that you are supposedly listening to?"

"Fine, but it'll be improvised," I replied, then started to sing. Before I knew it the song was turning out wonderful, rich and sensuous as we 'danced' (if you could call it that, really it was more like hands on flirting). Finally the timer for the tea rang, and I remorsefully let go of Christine and ran to get the tea bags.

MEANWHILE, BACK IN CHRISTINE'S DRESSING ROOM

"Christine?" called Meg, stepping daintily into the dressing room of her friend. "Christine, where in the world are you?"

She heard nothing in reply except a strange puffing noise.

"What?"

Puff, puff. It sounded like someone panting and wheezing. Where was it coming from?

"Christine, what are you _doing_?" Puff, puff, wheeze. Meg carefully examined the room and found no one. And yet the puffing continued. She rolled her eyes, thinking Christine was trying out Carlotta's new treadmill again. But as she rolled her eyes upward, she caught side of something she didn't expect.

Holding onto Christine's ceiling fan and bracing himself flat against the ceiling.

A man in a white mask.

Wearing a black cape.

Waiting for Christine as well.

Christine knew him as the angel of music!

"Piangi?" Meg gasped in horror.

Many thanks (and truffles) to… 

**Videociraptor**: Another favorites list! Why thank you :) And yes, Christine is demanding. Who wouldn't be when confronted by Erik?

**Blueberrymarker**: Why thank you :) I liked the truffle part too. I love the expression I have pictured in my head. Like, "Ehh…okaaaay then…"

**Phangirl321**: Thank you very much! But don't hurt yourself when you fall out of your chair, please. The last thing I want is you being suspended from the computer for bruising your butt too bad.

**Italia12**: I'm guessing you saw the same expression I thought of?

**GoldenLyre**: Flustered doesn't even begin to describe it. He's mortified.

**Midnight Tango**: Let me tell you first of all that I love your name. Second, please do keep the rolling on the chair and not on the floor. Like I said before, I'd lose too many reviewers that way.

**Sailor J-chan**: Thank you, I'm glad you enjoyed it.

**Shade Sunslayer**: Rare treat…both Erik and his truffles are a rare treat. XD

**Nota Lone**: Favorites! I love being on the favorites list! Here, take as many truffles as you like!

**Son Ange**: He's kind of dense to girls hitting on him right and left, I guess. But really, it's kind of hard to miss.

**SimplyElymas**: Woo! Random is one of my comedy idols (besides Ellen DeGeneres, of course). Thank you for the lovely compliment ;-)

**Clintongroth**: Liking the chocolate nut crèmes? I'll have Erik whip up another batch for ya.

**Eilonwy-Aire**: Thank you very much! Tell the little Erik in your head that I said hello. You give a new meaning to the phrase 'The Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind.'

**unseenhope18**: Thank you oodles! I feel so loved today! What with Andrea's random compliments and all of these lovely reviews! Hurrah!

**Angel-of-Music1331**: My writing style's just ordinary. Nothing to love. But as for the truffles—those are darn good.

**Marianne Brandon**: As you can see, I used your lovely suggestion. Thank you for that ;-). You have a knack for good suggestions.

…_for their ever-day-brightening reviews!_


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